The 
Bride of the Violin 

and Other Poems 



BY 



George Watson James, Jr. 

author of 
"The Reveries of a Fiddler" 




Press of Whittet & Shepperson, 
Richmond, Va. 



•■■'■ 

Of 



Copyright, 1909, by 

George Watson James, Jr., 

Richmond, Va. 




0, %?<1/ 



The Bride of the Violin, or the 
Song of the Strings. 

Oh, Bride of the Violin, thou princess of Song, 
I am ever a slave to your magical wand — 
At a touch from your ringers, I tell of your joy — 
The heart-aches you suffer, and those moments 

of sorrow 
That Death always brings by the close of the 
morrow — 
All this wealth of emotion of which thy heart 

sings 
Can be heard if you'll but listen to the Song 
of the Strings. 

E String. 

I Sing of the Springtime, and love of the Soul, 
Of the beauty Goft!s gqp4ness .can only unfold — 
And around yMlg hearts rill ever entwine 
The dreams you cherish of that Sweetheart of 
thine. 

A String. 

To sing of the summer of life is my part — 
When a flower blooms to cheer every fast-break- 
ing hear) 
And of those 
bright- 



S flg fgcndshi p s, 



so golden and 



That every one makes in the summer of life. 



4 THE BRIDE OF THE VIOLIN 

D String. 
I speak to the world of the autumn of life, 
When we rest from our conflict of toil and 

strife — 
I'll recall once again Love's golden hours 
I spent by your side, my choicest of flowers — 
When the fast- falling twilight has lulled me to 

rest — 
Then you'll know, gentle Lady, who loved you 

the best. 

G String. 

I moan for the hearts Death's reaper has stilled, 
And the sweet flower of hope Grief only can 

kill— 
For love's rosy chaplet, forever so bright, 
Which can never be worn in our winter of life — 
My music shall comfort the souls that are 

left, 
Though I've won for my name the grim String 
of Death. 



The Broken String. 

Once I sang of the beautiful love 

That dwelt in a maiden's heart, 
Under the spell of her gentle caress 

I soared in the realms of art. 
Now forever discarded, 

No more in her bower shall I sing — 
Ah ! what memories still linger 

In the heart of a broken string. 



AND OTHER POEMS 



Slumber Deeply, Gentle Rose, 

Slumber deeply, gentle rose, 

Angels guard thy last repose, 

Thou who through the summer days 

Cast on us a lingering gaze, 

Fold thy fragrant petals sweet, 
Sleep, beloved, ever sleep. 

Slumber deeply, gentle rose, 
Where the sighing night wind blows 
Thou, who didst with matchless art 
Soothe the pangs of every heart. 
Love possess thy petals sweet, 
Sleep, beloved, ever sleep. 

Slumber deeply, gentle rose, 
Where the sobbing brooklet flows, 
So through winter's dreary days, 
Soft, 'twill sing thee requiem lays. 
Droop thy fragrant petals sweet, 
Sleep, beloved, ever sleep. 

Slumber deeply, gentle rose, 
God thy beauty only knows — 
Thou, whose very presence bright 
Lights the gloom of sorrow's night, 
Cherished is thy memory sweet, 
Sleep, beloved, ever sleep. 



THE BRIDE OF THE VIOLIN 

The Master's Old Violin. 

Bruised by the ruthless flight of time, 
Scarred by a wanton hand — 
Sleeping within its battered box, 
Is the Master's old violin — 
Some may gently caress it, 
Now that his spirit has flown, 
But no other hands can awaken 
The soul of the old violin. 

Oh, if stern death would permit him 
To touch those strings again, 
What streams of pent-up emotion 
Would flow from his old violin — 
Singing of lovers' devotion, 
Sobbing of sorrow and pain — 
All these forever are slumbering 
In the soul of the old violin. 

Laden with the dust of many a year, 
Strung with an old G string, 
Resting within its battered box 
Is the Master's old violin — 
Haunted with fragrant memories, 
Watched by the lone Death String — 
Ah, what pathos is sleeping 
In the soul of the old violin. 



AND OTHER POEMS 



The Heart's Like the Bloom of 
a Delicate Flower 

The heart's like the bloom of a delicate flower, 

Whose beauty we ever adore, 

But once it is bruised 

By a word or a deed, 

Its blossom is dead evermore. 



So think not, gentle friend, 

That thou canst make amends 

For the wounds that thy anger hast made, 

And when tempted thou art 

To pierce a lone heart, 

Remember those that forever are dead. 



The heart's like the bloom of a delicate flower, 
Whose beauty we ever adore, 
If with love always sweet, 
Its youth thou wilt keep, 
'Twill blossom to die nevermore. 



THE BRIDE OF THE VIOLIN 



The Beautiful Valley of Dreams 

Nestled in the hills of Peace and Content 
Lies the beautiful Valley of Dreams; 
There as the happy hours fly by, 
With never a heartache, never a sigh, 
We gather the rosemary blooming nigh 
In the beautiful Valley of Dreams. 



Ah J those are lovely castles there 
In the beautiful Valley of Dreams, 
The world has reared its mansions fair, 
But naught with splendor can compare 
To the misty structures we've built of air 
In the beautiful Valley of Dreams. 



To Autumn. 

In Autumn Nature has a canvas, 
Which she tints with gorgeous hue ; 

Blends the gold and cardinal colors 
With the vaulted heavens' blue. 

In Autumn Nature's like a pilgrim, 
Sad and weary, seeking rest; 

Reflecting all the summer's glories, 
As it sinks in Slumber's nest. 



AND OTHER POEMS 



Consolation. 

I stood one day upon Life's shore, 
A bark put out to sea, 

Upon its deck was maiden's love 
Forever lost to me. 



I watched that bark until it seemed 

A phantom of the sea, 
I turned and hovering near my side 

Was Angel Memory. 

She said, "Gaze not, Oh, sorrowing soul, 

On this desert sea, 
You shall clasp that vanished love 

In Eternity." 



So with aid of visions bright, 
Memory brings to me, 

Still I walk beside my love 
Far across the sea. 



io THE BRIDE OF THE VIOLIN 



The River. 

Ah, the river, how 'tis singing, 

Sweet its verdant banks are ringing, 

Singing, always singing 

To light hearts upon its shore, 

Telling of the golden morrow, 

Whose dawn is free of sorrow, 

Singing, ever singing 

To light hearts upon its shore. 



Ah, the river, now 'tis moaning, 

As seaward it is flowing, 

Moaning, always moaning, 

For the souls that are no more, 

Telling of death's horror, 

Which may fill that golden morrow, 

Moaning, ever moaning 

For those sleeping on its shore. 



Once my heart was like that river, 
Sweetly singing, happy ever, 
Singing, always singing 
Of the one that I adored, 
Till she thought I lightly loved her, 
Scoffed at all my soul could offer, 
Now I'm moaning, ever moaning, 
That she scorned me evermore. 



AND OTHER POEMS n 

The Thistle. 

When midst the flowers of memory, thou wand- 
erest, 
Pause near the plot where the Thistle once 
grew; 
Remember, that tho' through life it was thorny, 
Still, like the rest, it worshipped thee too. 

So, when those hearts you thought true forever, 
Fade like the clouds o'er a bright summer's 
sea; 

Turn to the Thistle, for in its rude bosom 
There love is changeless, is burning for thee. 

Or if with sweetest and rarest of pleasures 
Heaven for all time thy pathway shall strew, 

Remember the Thistle, tho' rudest of blossoms, 
Was fairest of all in devotion to you. 



Dreams. 

Dreams are but the brush of Memory 
Painting on Life's canvas bare 

Scenes of youth, which Love once tinted 
With his colors, matchless, fair. 

It is to this Master Painter 
That we owe the gems of Art, 

For he doth with beauty radiant 
Blend us visions of the heart. 



12 THE BRIDE OF THE VIOLIN 



The Death of a Rose. 

The red rose is sighing, 
As summer is dying — 
And soft on her petals 
Each dew drops a tear — 
Not all Nature's fond suing, 
Or moonbeam's sweet wooing, 
Can bring to her cheek 
The bloom as of yore. 

The autumn wind's sighing, 
For the red rose lies dying, 
And sadly forever she's drooping to rest- 
Like a heart that is breaking 
By love all forsaken — 
Her beauty is sleeping, 
To bloom nevermore. 



Ah, to Stay the Tear. 

Ah, could I but stay one tear drop, 
Coursing down thy pearly cheek, 

I would give my life as ransom, 
Counting such a pleasure sweet. 



Ah, could I but hush the heart sigh, 
Trembling on those pallid lips, 

I would tread the paths of Sorrow, 
Counting such a heavenly bliss. 



AND OTHER POEMS 13 



Song of the Brook. 

If thou wilt list unto the brook, 

A song 'twill sing to thee 
Of youth and love, which by its side 

Are blooming wild and free — 
And how its murmuring music soft 

Bids Nature slumber sweet, 
As through the length of mossy banks, 

It rolls toward the deep. 



If thou wilt list unto the brook 

That sings within the dell 
'Twill to thy ever yearning heart 

A wondrous secret tell; 
Twill sing thee as it ripples on, 

Forever to the sea, 
That thou must fill some life with love, 

If happy thou wouldst be. 



14 THE BRIDE OF THE VIOLIN 



To a Lily, 



Droop thy weary head to rest, 

Lily fair, 
God will bring eternal balm 

For each care. 
Fear not Death's appalling gloom 
For to heavenly mansions soon 
He will bear thy withered bloom, 

Lily fair. 

Lay thy head upon His breast, 

Lily fair, 
Thou shalt have unwithered bloom 

Ever there. 
Weep not if thy life be o'er 
For upon that radiant shore 
Thou shalt dwell forever more, 

Lily fair. 

Sigh no more for earthly love, 

Lily fair, 
Heaven hath an eternal peace 

For despair. 
Dread not Death's impending night, 
For in God's celestial light, 
Thou shalt bloom forever bright, 

Lily fair. 

Hark! it is the angels' song, 

Lily fair, 
Calling thee to ever bloom 

Over there. 
Weep not, for upon Death's wing, 
Swift to where his angels sing, 
God thy weary heart will bring, 

Lily fair. 



AND OTHER POEMS 15 



Twilight's Hour. 

Bright are those dreams 

Which come in twilight's hour, 
Winging my thoughts to the 

Vale of Heart's Desire; 
Where once with love 

She did my life entwine; 
Sweet are those dreams in twilight 

Hours of mine. 

White were those hands 

As if of ivory carved, 
Fair were her cheeks 

Whose bloom no sorrows marred; 
Pure was that soul as breath 

From heavenly flower; 
Sweet are my dreams of her, 

In twilight's hour. 



16 THE BRIDE OF THE VIOLIN 



To Memory. 

As the leaves of sad Autumn 
Blend Summer's past glory- 
In one gorgeous color 
To cheer Mother-earth — 
So Memory mirrors 
The heart's true emotion, 
Which came when our 
Souls first gave Love gentle birth. 



Oh, the heart may be bare as 
The trees of November — 
As black with despair as 
Seems their rude bark — 
Till like Spring's song-bird 
That woos them to blossom, 
It hears Memory's song 
Of Love's birth in the heart 



As every sweet flower 
Must have cruel Winter, 
And leaves to gently 
Cover a once lovely bloom — 
So the heart will have 
Sorrow, no tears can alter, 
And bright leaves of Memory 
To cover its tomb. 



AND OTHER POEMS 17 



Du Bist Wie Eine Blume. 

Thou art to me as the 
Bloom of lily fair, 
Whose fragrance pure 
Like incense sweet 
Pervades my hour of prayer. 

Thine eyes to me are as 
The violet, 

In whose azure depths 
One might gaze forever, 
And find his heart at rest. 



Lullaby. 

Sleep, angel, sleep, my love divine, 
May peace guard all thy slumber blest, 

And bring thee brightest, happiest dreams, 
From those sweet isles of joy and rest. 

Sleep, angel, sleep, oh, matchless flower, 
May Morpheus weave his mystic loom, 

To keep thy soul with love secure 
From every pang of earthly gloom. 



18 THE BRIDE OF THE VIOLIN 



To Life's Travelers. 

When the narrow road of Life 
You are treading, 
Sad hearts will you meet 
At each turn in the way. 
Give them the sunshine 
A kind deed doth proffer 
'Twill lighten thy burden 
With each passing day. 



Give them a smile, 

'Twill brighten the sorrow 

Which 'round them forever 

Doth hang like a pall, 

Such seeds of love sown 

In Life's dreary season 

Will bring you God's richest harvest of all. 



So when the narrow road 

Of life you are treading, 

Sad hearts will you meet 

Before the close of each day — 

Give them the balm a 

Kind word doth offer — 

For you never again shall journey this way. 



AND OTHER POEMS 19 



Drift No More, 

Drift no more, O broken heart, 

On Grief's troubled sea — 
To a land of joys unknown, 

Love is beckoning thee, 
Dream no more of visions bright, 

Cherished tho' they be ; 
Steer thy craft unto the strand, 

Where Love's awaiting thee. 

Bear no more the crushing load, 

Sorrow's thrust on thee ; 
Steer thy craft unto that land, 

Far across the sea. 
Weep no more for vanished hopes, 

Hallowed tho' they be; 
Love shall fold thee in its arms 

Through Eternity. 



